by Larry Rochelle
Not rated by the Author.
Print Save Follow
Recent poems by Larry Rochelle
Veneer of Civilization
>> View all 646
easy to see how confusion might
set in, the tables misplaced sideways, and the chairs set up
in a hurry.
no musicians drank beer yet, they’d
been discouraged by contracts written by lawyers,
who remembered last year’s
god, that old band shelter tilted too, its old bricks
giving out, slowly, the years
letting most ignore the slant.
musicians felt it though, their
tuning rituals oblique now, their heads
slanting to adjust.
acoustic streets brushed electricity, the bass man
groveled and growled,
his water bottled needed perking up.
something stronger made
music come, these water bottles seemed
so nice when held
by lissome teens exposing navels
to the setting sun.
but now, with the crowd expectant,
the hot dogs chewed, the beer
cold and wet, now
each band lined up in cars, waiting half-hour turns, so
brands changed, music changed, and the
bass man climbed down soon enough, his thirst
a bit of a monster, to be slaked
in the best of company the town